TEARS 


A Drama by 


JULIUS HOPP 




Class 
Book. 






'U- 



GopyrightN^ JfOJ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOStTV 



Ti 



ears 



A Drama of Modern Life 

in Four Acts by 

ytdiiis Hopp 



Boston 
The Poet-Lore Company 

igo4 



Copyright 1904 by JULIUS HOPP 



All rights reserved 



Two Conies Reneivec I 

JUL 19 1904 

fl Ooo?/rt?ht Entry | 

C). AS^ fS XXC No J 



k 



PRINTED AT 

THE GORHAM PRESS 

BOSTON, U. S. A. 






The purpose of playing . . . is to hold, as't 
were, the mirror up to natttre; to show virtue her 
own feature, scorn her own image, and the very 
age and body of the time his form and pressure. 

— Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act ^, Scene 2. 

That romanticism is more interesting than the 
realism which is prevalent, I grant; but it seems 
to me that the realism of which we think is only 
superficial, and naturally the discussion or narra- 
tion of the common will be interesting, but the 
point which I wish to make is that if the inner 
lives of the majority of the human race were dis- 
closed, we should have romances and even trage- 
dies in abundance. 

— Prof. G. R. Carpenter, Columbia University. 



CHARACTERS 

Old Mr. Harden 

His Wife 

George Harden ) 

Harry Harden V Their children 

Anna Harden ) 

Alice Harden, wife of George Harden, sister 

of Herbert Harris 
Mary Harden, her daughter 
Ferdinand Harden, cousin of George, Harry, 

and Anna 
Herbert Harris, a manufacturer 
Helen Harris, his wife 
Grace Harris, their daughter, later Harry Har- 

den's wife 
William Wallace 

minor characters 
A preacher, a teacher, young men and women, a 
servant girl, a police detective, a delegation of 
working people, two children of Harry and 
Grace 



Jtrst Art 

First Scene 

/t small tozvn in Europe. Home of the old 
/M Hardens. Plainly furnished room; the 
^ £ hack open to a veranda, from ivhich the 
market place can he seen. 

Old Mr. Harden, about sixty-five years of age, 
sits at the tahle, resting his gray head upon his 
right arm, hopelessly looking into vacancy. His 
features are earnest from the many inflictions sus- 
tained during his life. 

His wife, of the same age that he is, a shrunken, 
shapeless, old zvoman, hereft hy sorrows of every 
feminine heauty. Her face is wrinkled and her 
head covered with hut feiv hairs. She is bent 
by age, and supports herself, while walking, on 
every object within reach, sighing continuously. 

Mr. Harden shakes his head in grief, as if not 
comprehending. 

Anna (Enters through the door on the left side. 

She is eighteen years of age. Her eyes are red 

and swollen with tears. She goes to her father 

and kneels dozvn before him) — Father, father, 

soon must I go away from you, from home. (She 

cries.) 

Father (Draws her to his breast). 



6 ®?ara 

Mother {Leads the preacher into the room, call- 
ing Anna's attention to the visitor) — Anna, please. 
Mr. Harden — You are honoring us. 
Anna (Boivs to him). 

Preacher — God be with you. Although our 
dear Anna called on me yesterday to say farewell, 
I feel it incumbent upon me to be present at the 
last moment before departure, in order to extend 
to you God's words of hope and consolation. 
Mrs. Harden — We thank you most heartily. 
Preacher — Your daughter has merited, by her 
exemplary conduct, the love, admiration, and 
friendship of all. 

Anna (Lays her hand into those of the preacher). 
Preacher — God's will leads to the best. {In a 
lozver voice.) Do not increase 3'our parents' suf- 
fering by an unrestrained utterance of your own 
feelings. 

Mrs. Harden — You will pardon us if we have 
to leave you for a few moments, as we have to 
attend to the last preparation for the journey. 
Anna, excuse yourself. 
Anna {Bozus). 

{Mrs. Harden and Anna exit.) 
Mr. Harden {To the preacher) — May I request 
you to take a chair? {Both sit dozvn.) 
Mr. Harden — It is as if a piece of flesh were 
torn out of my heart. 

Preacher — But what induces you to send your 
child to America, dear Harden? 



Mr. Harden — My two sons live in New York. 
My eldest son I have not seen for more than 
twenty years. You understand my longings, my 
burning longings. I am old, too old, and will 
soon not be able to follow my trade, and here I 
have nobody on whom I could depend. By God, 
I have suffered enough in my life. Of course, it 
is hard to think of parting from a place where one 
has spent his entire life, but if it be God's will, we 
shall follow our children, so that we may see them 
once more before we close our eyes forever. Is 
there anything more painful for gray parents than 
to have children and not to know them ? With joy 
have we cared and sacrificed our all for our chil- 
dren's sake; and now, when we are old, we are 
not alone deprived of any benefits from them, but 
we are not even permitted to know our own flesh 
and blood. Oh, it is almost unbearable to think 
of ! But if our Anna will be able to save money 
in America, this our last and only desire in life 
will be gratified ; we will follow our children to 
America. 

Preacher — Are your sons well-to-do there ? 
Mr. Haeiden (Shrugs his shoulders) — We know 
nothing about it; if they were rich they would 
have written so ; they would then have sent us 
money. Their never mentioning anything about 
their living is a sure sign that they must be strug- 
gling. Who knows? 
Preacher — Am.erica is not any more the golden 



8 ®rara 

land it was a few decades ago. Then, when the 
natural resources of the land were undeveloped, 
people grew rich, but nowadays conditions have 
grown to be the same in America as anywhere in 
the world. The same problems that agitate Eu- 
rope make themselves felt over there. Economic 
tmcertainty, as a rule, holds there full sway; in 
fact, the struggle for existence is in America 
much more intense than in Europe. People in 
America are exerting their entire energies in the 
struggle for existence. 

Mr. Harden — I am not unaware of all this, as I 
read much about the world's affairs. But what 
does it matter to us where we spend the few days 
we have to live, as long as we see our children 
once more? This will outweigh all disadvant- 
ages. 

(Signals of a postilion sound from afar, and 
gradually approaching, are heard louder and 
louder. ) 

Preacher — This is the stage going to the sta- 
tion. 

Mrs. Harden — The saddest moments have ar- 
rived. Now I have to part from my child. 

(From flic street, unexpectedly, a farezvell song 
is being played by tozvn musicians. Young men 
and girls of all ages are seen ascending the stairs 
leading from the street into the house. They 
come up to the veranda.) 

Anna and her mother, allured by the sound of 



©para 9 

the music, enter the room. She is now dressed in 
a traveling cloak and holds her bonnet on her 
arm. Her mother carries a valise and places the 
latter on the floor. When the music has ceased, 
the stage coach has reached the house, the horses 
ivithout are neighing, and the whip cracks. 

The participants in the ovation enter the room, 
everyone bearing Uozvers. Out of the crowd steps 
the teacher, who first salutes the parson, then 
shakes hands zuith Mrs. Harden, and finally turns 
to Anna, addressing her. 

The Teacher — Before destiny, which rules us 
all, leads you away from the place where you 
have passed the sunny days of your childhood, 
where you have breathed the air of youthful hap- 
piness, accept this token of friendship from those 
that are here assembled to render you their last 
homage {he hands her an album containing 
photographs of all present). May Fortune 
scatter roses upon the path you are to tread. And 
when in the distant land your terrestrial days 
wane into age may these pictures lead your mem- 
ory back to this day, and to those preceding it. 
(Anna cries; all present are moved to tears; they 
overwhelm her with flowers; the young men 
shake her hand, while each girl in the room kisses 
her, saying " Good-bye.") 

Now follows a long, silent scene, the moments 
of final parting, such as are being zvitnessed day 
by day in European towns. 



lo ibmtB 

Anna (Sobbing and lamenting loudly, embraces 

her mother for more than a minute.) 

Mr. Harden (Struggling intensely with himself, 

silently puts his hat on.) 

Preacher (Witnessing the tight embrace of 

mother and daughter, endeavors to shorten their 

pain by separating them) — Go, Anna, go. 

Anna (Falling now on her father's breast, 

her sobs are becoming more vehement) — Father, 

father, my dearest father! 

The visitors, overcome by emotion, leave the 
room, hiding their tear-stained faces. 
Mrs. Harden (Takes her cJiild again in her em- 
brace, and thus they zvalk together tozvard the 
door leading to the veranda. The teacher sup- 
ports the half-fainting Mrs. Harden. 

They all leave the room through the door to 
the veranda, while the sobbing and crying is 
heard, mingling zvith the sounds of the postilion, 
which latter grozv fainter and fainter as the 
coach rolls into the distance. 



Second Scene 

/^ jour-room Hat in a tenement house on 
/§ the East Side of Nezv York. The 
y £ stage represents tzvo rooms, as the 
rooms in which the poor live are not 
as large as stages are. Although the furniture 
displays poverty, there is a scrupulous cleanliness 
about every object. To the left is the front room, 
whose windozvs on the left open into the street. 
A door in the right corner, in the rear, leads into 
the hallway; another door, more toward the front, 
leads into the bedroom, which latter occupies the 
right part of the stage. The bedroom is dark; 
there is only one small window in the back wall, 
opening into the airshaft. The furniture consists 
of a cot bed only, while some clothes hang on 
hooks on the right wall. 

The front room is very poorly furnished, a 
small table in the center, a rocking chair, a parlor 
set, whose springs have succumbed to use during 
long years. Betiveen the tzvo windows on the 
right hangs a looking glass, above a small closet. 
Some other insigniiicant things complete the out- 
fit. The floor is covered here and there with 
small old rugs, but is otherwise bare. The walls 
are poorly ornamented with printed pictorial ad- 
vertisements of commercial concerns. 

In a corner near the window stands a book 



LoFC. 



1 2 Q^mrs 

case containing zvorks of Spencer, John Stuart 
Mill, Thomas Morris, Henry George, Karl Marx, 
Tolstoi, and Zola, etc. 

Ferdinand Harden and William Wallace, both 
young men of about 25 years of age, are sitting 
near the book case reading. 

Bertha Harden and Harry Harden are also in 
the room zvhcn the curtain rises. 
Harry (Gruniblingly) — Where did you put my 
things to? Nothing is on hand when I want it. 
Bertha — Well, why don't you take care of your 
things. 

Harry — Ain't you supposed to do it? 
Bertha — You do just as if everyone around 
you is a servant. 
Harry — Don't I pay ? 

Bertha (Makes an abrupt gesture, shozving the 
futility of continuing any conversation.) 
Harry {Having found the vest he zvas looking 
for he continues dressing himself, pacing com- 
placently to and fro.) 

Bertha — You are going out tonight again, are 
you? 

Harry — Yes. 

Bertha {Timidly) — Before you go, you will 
have to give me a few dollars this week, Harry. 
You know what expenses we had these few 
weeks on account of Anna. I have only a few 
cents left in the house, and it's only Friday. 



©f ars 1 3 

Ferdinand {To William Wallace) — Do you 
see? So it goes every week. When the middle 
of the week comes, then the money is short. 
Harry {To Bertha) — What do you always come 
to me for for money? I can't bother with it. I 
am paying here more than I would to strangers. 
Bertha — You ought to care, and take interest 
in your nearest relatives. Arn't you living 
with your own brother? It is not only for the 
sake of the money you pay and the equivalents 
you get that you are living here ? You ought to 
take interest in your sick brother and your sister. 
But what is the use of talking to you? If you 
had common sense or a heart, you would . . . 
Harry — Oh, for heaven's sake, hang it ! I ain't 
going to give my money to everyone who wants 
it. I want to enjoy myself. 
Bertha — I don't want to disturb your pleas- 
ures; of course you can spend the few dollars 
you make as you please. But I tell you, it is 
wrong; you buy things you don't need, while 
George has not a decent coat on his back. Have 
at least some feeling on account of your sister. 
Do you think it is right to let her go to the shop 
while she is only two weeks in the country? I 
can't afford to keep her home. Did you notice 
how sad she is when she comes home in the even- 
ing from work ? Last night I heard her sobbing 
while all were sleeping. 
Harry {Brushes his hat and whistles.) 



14 (BmtB 

Bertha — Then loan me two dollars at least till 
Saturday. 

Harry (Puts after some deliberation the money 
on the table.) 

Bertha (Takes it and murmurs to herself) — 
Pity the poor girl that will ever marry him. 
(She goes into the kitchen.) 
William (To Ferdinand) — So you will lend 
me this book. It must be interesting. This is 
the first book on social economy I am going to 
read. Yes, money, money seems to be the source 
of all evil. 

Ferdinand — On one hand you have excessive 
accumulation of wealth by comparatively few, 
while on the other hand you have poverty of the 
masses. 

Harry (To William) — Don't you become a 
socialist too ; it's enough we have one of them. 
William (To Harry) — Then you are no so- 
cialist, as your cousin? 

Harry — Not by a damn sight ; I am nothing. 
I am where I can get the most money. 
Ferdinand (Smiles.) 

William — Well, I am no socialist either; I be- 
lieve in some ideas of it, but I must say there is a 
great deal of truth in it. I know that people are 
poor even in periods of prosperity, and the masses 
do not enjoy the advantages of the increased 
productivity. 
Harry — Rubbish ! You socialists oppose prog- 



©^ara 15 

ress ; they want to divide equally — let each man 
be rich ; such nonsense ! 

William (To Harry) — That is your interpreta- 
tion of socialism. 

Ferdinand — Socialism is the inevitable out- 
come of the growth of the present system. So- 
cialism is not something to be adopted, but it is a 
state towards which industry develops. When 
centralization of industry has reached its climax, 
then all human beings will enjoy the multiplied 
wealth, and poverty will be abolished. Social- 
ism aims at the happiness and comfort of all. 
The change of ownership of centralized industry 
will then be the inevitable issue. 
Harry — It will never be. 

Ferdinand — From your limited point of view. 
Harry — I ain't no fool like you, anyway. 
Ferdinand — Ignorance and arrogance are 
twins. (To William) Progress was always im- 
peded by popular misapprehension and prejudice. 
Christ was crucified, Columbus ridiculed, Galileo 
burned. 

(Mrs. Harden enters.) 
Mrs. Harden — Politics again. You better be 
careful, Will, that you don't get into a scrap; 
whenever they argue their politics they finish 
with some kind of trouble. You have something 
more important now on your mind than politics, 
you have to get work first, you need a job now 
first of all. 



1 6 EmtB 

Ferdixano — That is just what we are arguing 
about, how to have work always and to make a 
living without worrying about it. 
Mrs. Harben (To WiUiani) — If zve could only 
do something for you, but you know we have 
nothing ourselves. I have a brother, though, 
who may be able to get you a position. He is a 
business man, and I think if you go to him he 
may get you some kind of a position. 
William — Do you mean your brother who 
used to have the factory in New Haven, with 
whom my mother used to work. Is he in New 
York now? 

Mrs. Harden — He is in New York since a few 
years. 

William — I remember them very well ; mother 
used to wash for his family. 
Mrs. Harden — I expect my brother to come to- 
night on account of seeing our new guest. You 
go tomorrow to him, and I am positive he will be 
able to do something for you. I think you better 
go soon after supper, lest he meets you here, as I 
do not wish him to know that I am giving you 
his address. 

The hell rings. 

Mrs. Harden leaves the room to open the door. 
Soon after she re-enters foUoived by her husband, 
George Harden. 

George {He is lame and therefore unable to walk 
continuously. When he enters the room he seats 



(SmvB 1 7 

himself exhaust edly in the rocking chair. He is 
of a zi'retched appearance; his suit is time-worn 
and faded. His trousers are zvorn out on the 
bottom, and his hat out of shape. When he 
entered through the bedroom, he carried a fezv 
paper boxes, held together with a strap, and he 
places same on the floor; this constituting his 
stock of trade. After recovering his breath, he 
says) — Good evening {and looks with anxious 
expectancy through the room, and not seeing 
Anna, he asks) — Has Anna not come home yet? 
Mrs. Harden — Not yet, but she ought to come 
every minute. 

George — It is after seven already. {His voice 
is always pensive and betrays by its tone the suf- 
fering he secretly bears.) 

Mrs. Harden {Her voice is always natural and 
unrestrained, as if she knozvs no sorrows, and 
with this, her artificial good humor, she exercises 
a soothing influence upon her husband) — Oh, 
well, she will be here soon. Sometimes the cars 
stop, or she may have to work a little overtime. 
George {Takes his coat off and rocks himself 
nervously in the rocking chair.) 
William {To George) — Good evening, Mr. 
Harden. 

George — Did you get work today ? 
Mrs. Harden {Looks during the follozving con- 
versation out of the window into the street) 

William — Not yet. I made an application 



1 8 Q^mts 

yesterday as conductor on the road. I could 
get work, but I don't like to take anything that 
comes along ; I am very anxious to get a position 
where I could make use of my education, and 
not to remain a workingman, simply working 
without any other aim than to make a living. 
Mrs. Harden (Calls out of the zvindow) — 
Hello. (She turns into the room and says) — 
The girls are coming down the street. (She 
leaves the room.) 

George — That is all well enough, to have some 
ambitions, but a person must be glad if he gets 
any kind of work. Ideals — I had ideals, too, 
years ago, but I tell you I changed my mind 
pretty quick. Work and live, that is all one can 
do nowadays. 

The merry voices of tivo girls sound from the 
kitchen. George goes toivard the bedroom when 
Anna and Mary enter the front room. 

Mary is about i6 years of age; her dress is of 
very cheap material, but its style is a poor imita- 
tion of fashion, although it is torn and mended 
in various places, and covered with thread from 
the factory. Her hair is elaborately dressed, and 
all the luxury available is lavished upon the bon- 
net. She holds in her hand a dime novel and a 
nczvspaper. She is altogether a type of a New 
York factory girl. 

Anna stands with her modest dress and simple 
behavior in strong contrast to Mary. She has 



(H^arfi 19 

little changed in outward appearance since she 
has left Europe, except that her features have 
lost somewhat of their former brightness, and 
her cheeks are less red. 
Mary — Hello ! 

Anna (Hastens into George's arms) — Good 
evening, brother. My dear Georgie! 
George — I thought you would be home already 
when I would return, so I had to wait for you all 
this time. 

Anna — And I was thinking of you all day 
long. (To Harry, with less affection) — Good 
evening, Harry. (She shakes hands with Ferdi- 
nand and William) — How are you? 
William — How is yourself, Miss Anna ? 
Anna — Thank you, very well. 

(Both girls take their hats off, and their laugh- 
ing and girlish giggling tills the room and com- 
municates itself to everyone else.) 
Anna — This is the second day I am working, 
and soon I will get the first money I have ever 
earned. 

(All look admiringly at Anna, she being the 
sudden star of joy in this house.) 
Mrs. Harden (Enters, carrying dishes and set- 
ting the table) — Now, let us have supper, chil- 
dren. 

Anna (Assists her eagerly.) 
Mary (Who has opened the newspaper and 
reads aloud) — Murder; husband shot his wife. 



20 ®fara 

having found her to be guilty of breach of faith ! 
Boo ! Awful ! 

Ferdinand — Is that all you have to read? 
Mary — Ain't that nice ? Look at that nice pic- 
ture; how gracefully she raises her skirt. (She 
goes to the looking-glass and imitates the atti- 
tude she has seen in the nezvspaper.) 
Ferdinand (To William) — Beautiful impres- 
sions for an immature girl. Ha ! ha ! 
Mrs. Harden — You better learn to mend your 
stockings. 

(All sit dozvn to eat.) 
Mrs. Harden — You sit there, Anna. (To 
William) — Will and you, you sit next to Anna. 
William {To Anna) — With your permission. 
Anna (Blushes) — Certainly. 
Harry (Remains remarkably silent, knoiving 
that he is not well liked by the others. He reads 
the papers while he eats.) 

Mary — Oh, and didn't we have fun on the way 
home. Anna got so frightened in the car. You 
ought to hear. 

Anna — I felt so dizzy, everything seemed to 
dance around me. We went to get our car, and 
so many people were rushing after the same car. 
Thousands of people streamed through the 
streets ; oh, if I think of it ! And the cars were 
flying through the crowd, the people running like 
crazy, all pressing each other, men running and 
pushing aside the women. The cars, they were 



iBmXB 2 1 

crowded already and still the people pressed into 
them. Those that could not get into the cars 
were hanging outside, one holding the arms over 
men that were hanging themselves somehow, 
and, while all this was going on, the cars went 
along, loaded in and outside. My God ! One 
man slipped off the car and was dragged along. 
I nearly fainted. And we were so tired from 
working and from the excitement, and we could 
not get a seat at all. I've never seen anything 
like it. 

Ferdinand — Here everything is in a rush. 
Anna — I don't know how I got home. 
Mary — I pushed her into the car, and she al- 
most lost her hat. 

Anna — Is that always so in America? I won- 
der how people can live like that, and why they 
do so. 

George — Well, what is the use of talking ? You 
will get used to it, too, like the others. 
Anna (Yazuns) — I am so tired. 
Mary — After supper I am going out. 
Mrs. Harden — No, you stay home tonight, 
Uncle Herbert is coming. 

Mary (Obstinately) — I am not going to stay 
home. I am going to see my feller tonight. I 
have made a date with him. 
Mrs. Harden — You stay home, I tell you. 
Mary — I work all day long and in the evening 



22 OIparH 

I shall stay home. What have I got then from 

life? I want to have fun, too. 

Mrs. Harden — You can have pleasure at home, 

too. 

Mary — Pleasure home? I wish to know what 

kind of pleasure I could have here ; the nice 

piano we haven't got. I am not the only girl 

on the avenue ; they all go out after supper and 

why should I not? 

George — Well, let her go, Alice. We can't 

keep her in the room after she has been working 

all day long. A little air will do her good, too. 

Mrs. Harden — But you be home by 9 o'clock. 

( The frugal supper has been taken. ) 
Mrs. Harden (To WUliam) — And you be here 
tomorrow and I will give you my brother's ad- 
dress. 

William — I am much obliged to you. So I 
shall go now. {He takes his hat and a book.) 
Mary — Are you going now? Wait; I'll come 
with you. (She dresses herself.) 
William — Goodnight, Mrs. Harden. (He 
shakes hands with everyone.) 
Mary — So long. 

Mary, raising her skirt as she studied it before, 
and William exeunt. 

Harry — I have to go down to the barber ; ex- 
cuse me, Anna. (He goes.) 
Mrs. Harden (Speaking to herself) — And from 
the barber to his sports, the politicians he goes 
with. 



Anna (To Mrs. Harden) — And I shall help 

you wash the dishes. 

Mrs. Harden — Oh, no, child ; you worked all 

day ; you better rest now. 

Anna — Work never kills. {Both carry the 

dishes into the kitchen. Mrs. Harden returns 

once more, brushes the crumbs off the table and 

goes again into the kitchen.) 

George and Ferdinand remain alone in the 
room. 

Ferdinand {Reads, and then goes into the bed- 
room, lights the gas, lies down on the bed, and 
continues reading, sighing.) 

George {Goes to the table, takes his money out 
of his pocket, and counts it.) 
Mrs. Harden {Re-enters) — The landlord was 
here again ; he was very angry. 
George {Shrugs his shoulders.) 
Mrs. Harden {Laconically) — He will have to 
wait another week ; in the meantime we will look 
for rooms, and this way we save six weeks' rent. 
That's the only thing we can do. 
George — We are never allowed to settle down. 
Mrs. Harden — Have you sold much today ? 
George — Besides the expenses, I have about 80 
cents profit. 

Mrs. Harden — I am running very low this 
week. I asked Harry to give me two dollars. 
Anna cost us a good deal these last weeks. Car 



24 ©ears 

fare and money for lunch. Well, we will get 

through it, though, somehow. 

George — I am getting tired of it. (He strokes 

his forehead.) 

Mrs. Harden — The money she will earn there 

in the factory we can't take away from her either ; 

she wants to save it, she says, for her father. 

She has no idea that we have no money. (She 

takes the change from her husband, ivhich lie 

offers her.) 

Anna is coming into room. George motions his 
wife to he silent. 

Anna — I am done with washing the dishes, and 
now we will talk the evening away, like home. 
Mrs. Harden — And while you both talk I'll go 
down and fetch some fruit for the visitors, other- 
wise I have nothing in the house for them. 

Mrs. Harden exit. 
Anna (Goes to her brother, and noticing his 
badly torn vest, she urges him to give it to her) — 
Your vest is torn, too ; come, I shall mend it for 
you. 

George (Someivhat embarrassed) — No, Anna, 
Alice will fix it for me tomorrow. 
Anna — This is no work at all, and you must 
not wear torn clothes. (She takes his vest off, 
gets a needle and cotton and mends it, during the 
follozving dialogue) — Four weeks ago I was 
home and now I am in America. 
George — Father and mother must be very gray, 
are they ? 



®para 25 

Anna — Father docs not look as old as mother, 
although he is older. Mother looks like an old 
grandmother, and father — 

George {Bites his lip, suppressing his pain. His 
voice becomes tremulous, he seises her Imnd) — 
Sister ! When I look at you I can hardly believe 
it that I have such a dear sister. When I left 
home you were a little baby. 
Anna (Stops sezving and lays her head against 
her brother's shoulder, patting his cheeks) — And 
I knew I had a brother far away in America 
whom I did not know, and I could not imagine 
what you look like. You look just like father. 
George (Turns his face aside to hide from her 
the tears that are rolling dozvn his cheeks. He 
takes his kerchief, pretends to blozu his nose, 
but actually zvipcs the tears azvay.) 
Anna — The parents were always worrying 
about you, because you wrote so seldom ; father 
was at times very angry with you. 
George — See, sister, you are here now, and I 
may tell you. I could not write. I have gone 
through awful days. When I came to America 
I made nice money, but in 1892, when the panic 
was in this country, I lost all. Then I had to 
commence anew, and from working too hard, I 
fell sick. Eight years ago I was nearly dead, 
and I am fortunate that I am alive today. 
Anna — But you are not sick any more? 
George — Not so much now, but I must not work 



26 Slrara 

hard. When a person in America is able to 
work he is all right, he may make his living any- 
way, but if one is sick, then it is all over. 
Anna — And the parents knew nothing about it? 
George — Could I write it to them ? The less 
they knew the better. 

Anna — But Harry, is he not earning enough 
money ? 

George — My wife got him a position with her 
brother. He makes nice money, eighteen dol- 
lars a week, but he spends most of it. He has 
too many friends, who live beyond their means, 
and you can't get him away from them. 

{Somebody knocks at the door leading into 
the hallway.) 

Mrs. Harden (Outside) — Open here. 
Anna (Opens the door.) 

Mrs. Harden, Mr. Harris and Grace Harris 
enter. Mr. Harris is about 45 years of age. His 
face is haggard and his hair gray. Grace is a 
beautiful, fascinating girl of twenty, dressed 
tastefully and neatly. A cap hangs loosely over 
her lovely hair. She is a lively and jolly girl of 
refinement and education. 
Mr. Harris — Good evening. 
George — Good evening, Herbert. Good even- 
ing, Grace. 

Grace — How do you do, uncle ? We met 
aunty just going into the house. But how dark 



Sl^ara 27 

these stairs are, and so many people live in one 

house. 

Mrs. Harden — Come, Anna, I shall introduce 

you. This is our new sister ; my brother — 

George; this is my niece, Grace. 

Grace — I am very glad. So you are from 

Europe. When did you arrive? 

Anna — Two weeks ago. 

Grace — You had a pleasant trip, I suppose? 

How do you like what you have seen of America ? 

Anna — Everything is so new to me. 

Grace — Are you going out every day seeing 

the sights of New York, the splendid parks and 

museum and the many theaters? 

(Anna, Mrs. Harden and George exchange 
glances of embarrassment.) 
Anna — Oh, no. I have no time for all this, I 
have to work and earn money. 
Grace — You and work ? A young lady ? 
George — Well, let us change the subject. 
Anna — Are there not thousands of girls work- 
ing? I am no exception. 

Mrs. Harden — Anna, show Grace the pictures 
and other things you brought from Europe. 
Anna {To Grace) — Come. {The girls embrac- 
ing each other go through the bedroom into the 
kitchen, stopping in the bedroom, where they 
exchange a feiv ivords zvith Ferdinand, who is 
still reading, but rises when the girls pass.) 
Ferdinand — How are you, Miss Grace? 



28 (Trars 

Grace — Thank you, I am well. How are yon ? 

Always reading? 

Ferdinand — Yes, reading ; cherishing great 

aims, 

{They go into the kitchen. Ferdinand takes 
his hat, turns the light out, and goes also into the 
kitchen. ) 

Mr. Harris (Gii'cs his sister a fezv dollar bills.) 
Mrs. Harden — Oh, we don't need any money 
now, we have — now — all — we — we — need. 
Mr. Harris — Then keep it for the future. 
Mrs. Harden — Have some fruit, brother. 
(She offers hint fruit.) — How is business, now? 
Mr. Harris — Troubles right along. 
Mr. Harden — There is nothing without it. 
Mr. Harris — I lost a good deal of money 
lately. 

Mrs. Harden — You did ? Speculation ? 
Mr. Harris — Speculation ? No. Business is 
something awful this season. If it keeps on like 
this I will have to go out of business so it 
appears. 

Mrs. Harden — It will not be as bad as all 
that, brother? 

Mr. Harris — Rather than lose every cent I have. 
One good thing is that my life is insured. 
Mrs. Harden — That has nothing to do with it. 
Mr. Harris {Reali::ing that he may have be- 
trayed some of his thoughts, he tries to obliterate 
the impression he thinks to have created.) — I 



EtnvB 29 

mean that — at least — when all should be — 
lost — well — then I have always something for 
my family — to fall back on. 
Mrs. Harden — That is nonsense ; you can live 
long yet, and if you should lose your money, you, 
as a business man, will make it again. There 
are ups and downs. 

Mr. Harris — I hope so ; otherwise there would 
be no use living. 

Mrs. Harden — We have nothing and we live 
too. One gets used to it if one must. 
Mr. Harris (Looks at his watch.) It is eight 
o'clock already. As I wrote you, I have an ap- 
pointment here in this neighborhood ; that is \thy 
we stopped in here just for a few minutes. Helen 
sends her regards, and she expects Anna to visit 
her very soon. Will you call Grace to come ? 
Mrs. Harden (Calls into the kitchen) — Girls! 

(Both girls enter the front room.) 
Grace — Going already ? Next time we'll stay 
longer, especially as I have here such a nice 
friend. (She puts her cap in order.) 
Mr. Harris — Good-night then, sister, good- 
night, George. 

Grace — Good-bye, Anna. You come and pay 
us a visit next Sunday, positively. Will you ? 
Anna — I will. 

They all, zuith the exception of George, leave 
the room, going into the hallway. George 
remains alone and lies down on the lounge. A 



30 ®parH 

few seconds later, after they are heard saying on 
the stairs " good-bye " to the visitors, Anna and 
Mrs. Harden return. 

Anna (Yazi.'ns) — I am so tired from working. 
George — You better go to bed. 

(Anna kisses lier brother and sister-in-law 
good-night and leaves the room, followed by Mrs. 
Harden. 

Mrs. Harden (Returjis soon, carrying a cot bed 
into the front room, preparing same and turns 
the gas low) — Go to bed, George, as soon as 
Mary comes home. She will be here by nine 
o'clock. I would not wait for Harry, though, 
he has the keys. (E.vit.) 

(George alone in the room. He closes his eyes 
and falls into a slumber. In his half-sleep a 
vision appears before him in zvhich he sees his 
mother in Europe lying in a coffin, his father 
standing beside her, zvitli covered face. George 
jumps up front his lounge, intending to hurry 
toward the z'ision, which zvuishes i)istantly. Be- 
holding the reality, he continues to ga::e at the 
place zvhere the vision appeared.) 



#rronl> Art 

First Scene 

/t room on the ground floor of a private 
/§ house on the upper West side of New 
^ M York. The scenery displays comfort 
and moderate zvealth. 

Mrs. Harris sits in a rocking chair near the 
window reading a novel. From the floor above 
sound the tunes of classical music, played on a 
piano accompanied by a female voice. 
Servant Girl (Enters) — Madam, a young man 
desires to see you. 
Mrs. Harris — His card. 

S. G. — He had none. His name is Mr. Wallace. 
Mrs. Harris — Wallace ? What is it about ? 
S. G. — He seems rather poorly dressed, but he 
says he wishes to see you personally. 

Mrs. Harris and servant girl exeunt. Mrs. 
Harris returns soon, shozving William Wallace 
into the room. 

Mrs. Harris — You are William? I would 
never have recognized you. Since when are you 
in New York? How is your mother? 
William — Mother died last year. 
Mrs. Harris — That is too bad. Sit down, 
William. How did you happen to come to New 
York? 



32 S^ara 

William (Sitting) — You know, Airs. Harris, 
how sickly mother used to be when she did the 
work in your house in New Haven. Her 
strength diminished from year to year, as she 
worked pretty hard right along. She fell sick 
and for nearly four months she was confined in 
bed. I was then the only one who earned any- 
thing. Of course, some charitable institutions 
aided us, but all this was not sufficient to 
strengthen my mother completely. As soon as 
she became a little better, she had to go out 
washing again, and thus she relapsed. She grew 
thinner every week. She kept on working, 
though, until one morning — that moment I 
shall never forget — my youngest sister wanted 
to awake mother, it was pretty late, but mother 
did not move. Then I went over and wanted to 
tell her that it was late. When I touched her 
hand — it was cold — I understood — but my 
brother and sisters kept on calling : " Mother, 
get up." Since that day we are orphans. 
Mrs. Harris — Where are the others? 
William — In the orphan asylum. I came last 
year to New York, as I thought to find here better 
chances to develop myself with the education I 
acquired by myself, but I have been unfortunate. 
I have only a few dollars left, and they will soon 
be gone, if I do not soon get a position. For 
this reason I thought of calling on you ; perhaps 
that Mr. Harris could place me somewhere. 



Qlmrs 33 

Mrs. Harris — Certainly, Will, we will do all 
we can for you. Where are you stopping? 
William — I took a furnished room down town. 
Mrs. Harris — You stay with us, and we will 
take care of you. Why did you not come to us 
sooner ? 

William — I only heard lately that you were in 
New York. 

(The music upstairs has ceased. Grace is 
heard coining down the stairs.) 
Mrs. Harris — Don't be discouraged, my boy, 
you will be all right. 

Grace (Enters) — Papa is coming. I just saw 
him getting off the car. (Seeing William) — Oh ! 
Mrs. Harris — Don't be frightened, Grace. (To 
William) — You know Grace, don't you? 
William (Grozving confused on seeing her) 
— I remember. 

Mrs. Harris — Grace, you know this young 
man? 

Grace — I do not. 

Mrs. Harris — Will Wallace from New Haven. 
Grace — I know the name, but, are you Will ? 
William — Yes, I am ; you are quite a woman. 
Grace — And you, too, have become a tall young 
man. Oh, mamma, how Will has grown since we 
left New Haven. 

Mrs. Harris — And he has become bashful, too, 
since then. 



34 (EmtB 

William — Can one speak while seeing the 
splendor . . . you . . . 

(Grace makes a movement rez^ealing the fact 
that she has been fascinated by him.) 

The bell rings. 
Grace — Pa is coming. 

(A fezv seconds later Mr. Harris enters. He 
kisses his wife and takes his overcoat off. See- 
ing WiUiani he looks at his wife inquiringly.) 
Mrs. Harris — This is William Wallace, Her- 
bert, from New Haven. You remember his 
mother used to be in our employ there. He 
called on us a short while ago, and as he is all 
alone in New York, I think it is best to keep him 
here until he secures a good position. {To Wil- 
liam) — We will give you a room we have up- 
stairs that we are not using at present. Grace, 
tell the girl to show Will up-stairs. 

Exeunt Will and Grace. 
Mrs. Harris {Hums some song) — Oh, Herby, 
I have something very important to tell you. 
Just imagine, today I received a statement from 
Madam Dupont wherein she demands payment 
for a bill which w'e paid her a long time ago. 
You sent the check at that time. 
Mr. Harris — Madam Dupont? 
Mrs. Harris — The dressmaker, I am positive 
she received the check for this amount, you told 
me twice you sent her the check. 



Mr. Harris (Pretending not to remember) — I? 
— did I ? I don't think I did. 
Mrs. Harris — I asked you distinctly. 
Mr. Harris — I may have misunderstood you. 
Mrs. Harris — It would be very disagreeable to 
me if you should have forgotten to send her the 
money. Well, we have to pay immediately. — 
And while I think of it, I will need some money 
besides this. I am going down town tomorrow 
morning and have to purchase many articles we 
need badly. I shall need altogether about, in- 
cluding the dressmaker's bill, $150.00. 
Mr. Harris — Hundred and — Must you go 
shopping tomorrow? That much money? 
Mrs. Harris — Oh, yes, I delayed it from day to 
day, and I have to buy some new books and 
notes, a hat for me and one for Grace, and many 
other things. 

Mr. Harris — You see, a — I do not mean to 
refuse — but can't you manage to buy only the 
most necessary things? 

Mrs. Harris — Of course, I am buying only 
things we need most urgently. 
Mr. Harris — Books and notes, are these ab- 
solutely necessary? 

Mrs. Harris — Is not this question ridiculous? 
Of course I need the books. 

Mr. Harris — Hundred and fifty dollars, 
though. I could not — 
Mrs. Harris {In a cadence that proves her not 



36 Srars 

being azvare of any worriment) — I telephoned 
today for two tickets to the opera. 
Mr. Harris — Opera! {Intends to object, but 
remains silent, sighing) — For tomorrow night? 
I am not at all in the humor to go to the opera 
tomorrow. I am more than glad if I can stay 
at home after I return from business. You 
don't know how wearing and tearing it is to earn 
money, and how I long to rest after worrying all 
day. 

(William re-enters.) 
William — I wish to thank you, Mrs. Harris, 
very much for your kindness. 
Mrs. Harris — You are quite welcome. Do 
just as though you were at home. 

{Mr. Harris ivalks restlessly to and fro. 
Grace re-enters.) 

Mrs. Harris — Don't jou feel well ? Then you 
had better rest until we have supper. 

{Mr. and Mrs. Harris exeunt.) 

Grace and Will remain silent for a fezv mo- 
ments, then Will commences timidly the conver- 
sation. 

William — Have you been playing the piano 
before ? 

Grace — Yes, I did. I am a great friend of 
music. Aren't you? 

William — Sometimes I feel as if the very air 
were filled with songs, as if everything about me 
trembled in melodies. Have you never experi- 



(LmxB 37 

enced the same sensation, especially on bright 
summer days like this? 
Grace — Have you ever written any poem? 
William — Why do you ask ? 
Grace — Because you speak so poetically. 
William — Yes, I write poems occasionally. I 
love to stroll through the fields and woods, and 
to walk across the meadows when they are cov- 
ered with a thousand colored carpet of flowers. 
Then I do write poems. 

Grace — This is too nice — I always — wished 
— to find a friend — who — is like you. 

(Their embarrassment compels them to remain 
silent for a fezv moments, during which their 
eyes meet repeatedly.) 

Mr. and Mrs. Harris enter again. 
Mrs. Harris — You are here. Please go up- 
stairs, children, for awhile. 

(Grace and William exeunt.) 
Mrs. Harris — Well, but I do not understand 
you. You are not sick, but you act as if you 
were not well ; you tantalize me with your nerv- 
ousness, and if I inquire of you for the cause of 
your unrest you answer me evasively. 
Mr. Harris — Helen, you do not understand me. 
Mrs. Harris — Am I not always mirthful in 
order to please you ? 

Mr. Harris — It is not that — something else — 
You and I, we are accustomed to fashionable 
life, you are used since your early childhood to 



38 ©Fara 

have every one of your desires gratified. I, I, 
your husband, your protector, instead of render- 
ing you happy, — I am compelled — to cause you 
grief. 

Mrs. Harris — You are talking senselessly, you 
are not grieving me at all. Your nerves are ex- 
cited and you imagine you see things that do not 
exist. 

Mr. Harris — You do not know, you can't com- 
prehend it. I better tell you. Our happiness, 
besides our love, depends largely upon my finan- 
cial standing. Suppose then, I am prevented 
through some cause or other, from supplying 
you with the amount of money you require to 
satisfy your needs, that we have to discontinue 
any extravagance, could you be happy then, as 
happy as you were until now? 
Mrs. Harris — This is the first time you are 
speaking so seriously to me. Why? 
Mr. Harris — Because I endeavored to keep all 
sorrows away from you ; I wished to struggle 
alone, and not to deprive you of any pleasure 
and joy. But a stage has been reached in my 
financial affairs, of which I cannot possibly 
let you remain ignorant, as our domestic welfare 
depends entirely upon it. I cannot draw as 
much money from the profits as I have up to 
now. 

Mrs. Harris — Am I not striving to economize 
everywhere? My friends own horses and car- 



©fars 39 

riages, while I always considered these to be ex- 
travagances which I would dispense with. 
Mr. Harris — I appreciate this, but we cannot 
even continue to live as expensively as we do at 
present. I am simply incapable of drawing yearly 
as many thousands of dollars as our present 
household requires. It is a case of necessity to 
reduce our living expenses to a minimum. My 
duty as a husband and father, although painful, 
is to warn you, who are nearest to me, of an 
abyss that yawns before us, into which we must 
be precipitated if we do not change our course. 

{Mrs. Harris cries.) 
Mr. Harris {Turns aivay in despair on seeing 
his wife suffering) — Do not cry, Helen. I need 
support, your support, in this crisis. 
Mrs. Harris — I shall support you, while you 
are depriving me of your support. 

{She leaves the room exasperated.) 
Mr. Harris {Alone) — I deprive her of my sup- 
port? {A frightful determination seizes him. 
He heaves a deep sigh and follows his zvife.) 



Second Scene 

OMce in Herbert Harris' factory. To the left 
is Mr. Harris' desk, separated from the other 
part of the office by a partition. To the right is 
the bookkeeper's desk and various other articles 
belonging to an office. A door in the back leads 
to the stairs, another on the right side to the 
factory. 

(Harry Harden, the bookkeeper, sits at tJie 
desk and ivrites.) 

Mr. Harris {Going toivard Harry's desk with 
some correspondence) — Moore & Sons have not 
replied as yet to our letter in which we ask for 
extension of payment? 

Harry — Nixon & Sons are writing in this 
morning's mail, that unless payment is made 
within three days they will submit the matter to 
their legal advisers. Various other bills are fall- 
ing due this week. 

{Mr. Harris goes thoughtfully into his office.) 
Foreman {Enters) — Mr. Harden, some of the 
people in the shop wish to have a conference with 
the boss on account of the reduction of wages. 
Harry — Bosh, tell them we have no time now. 
Foreman — I hardly think it would be wise to 
refuse them a hearing. This will enrage them 
and cause a strike. 

Mr. Harris {Approaches Harry's desk and asks) 
— What is it, Tom? 



Foreman — The men held a meeting last night 
on account of the announcement of last week, 
and they are sending a delegation to you. 
Mr. Harris — Where are they? 
Foreman — They are waiting outside, 
Mr. Harris — Show them in. 

(Two zvorkingmcn, an elderly woman, and a 
young girl, employees of Mr. Harris, are shozvn 
into the office by the Foreman.) 
One of the Men — We were last week notified 
by your foreman that you intend to reduce our 
wages on account of business difficulties. This 
announcement, as you will understand, caused 
considerable dissatisfaction among us, so we de- 
cided to hold a shop meeting. This meeting 
took place last night, and we who are here 
present have been elected to act as committee of 
your employees, to reply to your announcement. 
Mr. Harris, it is not our intention to appear ar- 
bitrary, but we wish to express our grievances. 
Mr. Harris — Temporary difficulties in my busi- 
ness affairs force me to decrease the expenses of 
manufacturing. 

The Man — But we wish you to consider our 
circumstances. {More forcibly) — We have 
families to support, we have children to feed and 
to educate, we have wives, mothers and fathers, 
whose existence depends upon us. Even now, 
we are unable to support our families humanly, 
with ten and twelve dollars a married man earns 



42 ©fara 

in the average, considering the weeks he is out of 
work during the year, while the necessaries of 
Hfe are getting dearer and dearer. Remember, 
that the wages we earn weekly are the only source 
to supply our families' wants with, and do you 
intend to lower this our only income? Consider 
the criminality of such an act. Every cent taken 
away from us means a heavier burden loaded 
upon our wives, it means greater worriment to 
obtain our daily food and clothing. 
The Elder Woman — That's true, be Jesus. 
Mr. Harris — My dear people, after your true 
description of the effects of a reduction of wages 
upon your welfare, I am fully aware of your 
rights. To speak the truth, up to now, I never 
stopped to consider about your welfare, too much 
concerned with my own. But I, personally, am 
placed in extreme difficulties. Competition 
among the manufacturers is growing fiercer ; each 
firm endeavors to ruin the other. Machines of 
greater producing capacity are introduced, and 
the concerns with large capital are enabled to 
produce cheaper than the smaller manufacturer 
and press us to the wall. These big companies, 
with their mechanical devices, employ girls to do 
the work of men, and produce for all these rea- 
sons cheaper. 

The Girl Among the Delegates (Courage- 
ously) — Because our fathers don't earn enough, 
we girls must go into the factories. 



©?ara 43 

Mr. Harris — Give me time to consider and I 
shall let you know this Saturday. 
The Men — We shall wait. {They leave.) 
Mr. Harris — I don't see how we will be able to 
meet our responsibilities. Believe me, Harry, 
this is a terrible stress upon my mind. It takes 
the strength and vigor out of my body. This 
terrible thought haunts me day and night. See 
how gray my head is. {He goes to his desk and 
sits dozvn gloomily.) 

Grace enters through the door in the hack. 
She is, as usual, of hilarious disposition. 
Grace — How are you, Mr. Harden? 
Harry — All right. 
Grace — Is papa here? 

{Mr. Harris is shaken out of his reverie by 
hearing his daughter's voice.) 
Grace {Goes into her father's office) — Hello, 
pa! You did not expect me here did you, pa? 
Sh — I am coming on the quiet. 
Mr. Harris {Tries to conceal his inner struggle) 
— Well, what brought you down town? 
Grace — Will and I have been to matinee, and 
when we reached home I made up my mind to 
hurry down to you. Mamma had not been home 
yet from shopping. I wanted to beg something 
of you. Will you refuse it? 
Mr. Harris — Tell me first what you wish me 
to do. 
Grace — It is on account of William I am com- 



44 QI^atH 

ing. I wanted to beg you to take him into your 
business. 

Mr. Harris — A — a — 

Grace — Papa dear, do it out of love to me. 
William is anxious to do any kind of work. I 
beg you, papa. 

Mr, Harris — I shall see what I can do for him. 
Grace — I knew you would. Since I have ac- 
complished my work I'll hurry home again, as I 
want nobody to know where I have been. (She 
kisses him) — Bye-bye. {When she passes Harry 
in going she teases him) — You? You always 
look so, you never laugh. Good-bye. 
Mr. Harris (Sinking again into deep r every, he 
covers his face with both of his hands, then he 
takes a slieet of paper, ivrites a fezv lines on same, 
folds it and puts it into his pocket. Then he 
rises and goes to Harry) — I have to raise money 
somehow. I think I'll go to Albany — to try — 
to meet a friend of mine, or some relatives of my 
wife, perhaps they would advance some money. 
Will you after we close the office go to my wife, 
and tell her that I had to go to Albany, that I re- 
ceived a telegram? I'll be back tomorrow even- 
ing. (He takes his hot and umbrella and 
solemnly shakes hands zvith Harry) — So you 
go — to — my wife — and tell her she will know 
— all by tomorrow. (He goes.) 



Qlljirh Art 

First Scene 

(Living room on the second floor of Harris' 
dwelling. Grace sits at the piano and plays 
"Sweet Sixteen.") 

Will (Stands at her left side and listens to the 
music. When she reaches the chorus she turns, 
smiling, toward him and he joins in the chorus 
to her accompaniment. After they have finished 
the song, he sits dozvn at her side) — Do you 
recollect the days of our childhood? 
Grace — I remember when we were playing to- 
gether. 

Will — You just began to go to school. 
Grace — You forget, though, that you used to 
hit me always, when we were playing hide and 
seek. 

Will — That must have been the effect of your 
early attractions. 

Grace — But you would not hit me today any 
more, would you? 
Will — Surely not. 

Grace — Tell me, have you ever thought of me 
during all these years? (She hesitates for a mo- 
ment, embarrassed at her own freely displayed 
affection) — I mean, have you — (laughs mer- 
rily) — No, no, don't you mind me, I am so fool- 
ish today. 



46 Q^tUVB 

Will (Encouraged) — Your image arose very 

often before my mental eye. But then you were 

merely a small girl, one might say an unripened 

bud — 

Grace — And today ? 

Will — Today you are a flower — of — en — 

chanting loveliness. 

Grace — Will ! 

Will — Very often have I thought of you, but 

to be so near you, ever to be able to glance again 

at your angelic countenance, seemed always to me 

an unattainable bliss, far beyond possibility. 

Grace, you asked me whether I write poems ; 

when I entered this house, when I heard you 

playing the piano, a strange new feeling passed 

over me and I composed last night a poem. 

May I dedicate it to you? (He takes a sheet of 

paper out of his pocket.) 

Grace — A poem — for me? (She takes the 

jiiaiiuscript from him.) 

Will — Read it aloud, please. 

Grace (Reads) : 

As an elphin airily sways 

O'er the meadow's dew-pearled morn, 

So thy finger speeds with grace, 

Through the realm where songs are born. 

Listening silently, I feel 

Never-felt tranquillity 

Through my struggling being steal. 

Dying into harmony. 



©rara 47 

Will — You have inspired me. {He sei::es her 
hand) — You, you are so pretty, so beautiful. 
{He kisses and embraces her, then they separate 
abruptly, he hurries to the zvindow, ivhile she 
leans against the piano — then he turns to her 
again ) — Forgive me, Grace, I should not have 
done it. 

Grace — If you love me truly, then there is 
nothing to be forgiven. 

Will — I dare not to possess your love, you are 
so far above me, a dream . , . 
Grace — Our love will be so beautiful. 
Will — At first, I dared not reveal my infatu- 
ation to you, to awaken your affection. See, 
Grace, I do not care for myself, only for your 
sake I am filled with fear. I am — poor. 
Grace — Do you not dare to love me for this 
reason? If so, then do not worry. Tell me, 
V/ill, be true now, very true. In case we should 
be provided for with all that is necessary for a 
home will you be mine and shall I be yours 
forever ? 

Will — This would be too much, too high a 
bliss ; if it could be true ! I should never cease to 
love you. 

Grace — Then I will tell you everything. Did 
you not miss me an hoiu" ago after we returned 
from the theater? 
Will — Yes, I was surprised at not seeing you. 



48 (Urars 

Grace — Do you know where I have been ? Just 

guess. 

Will — How could I guess ? 

Grace — I took the car and rode quickly down 

to papa's office, for your sake, and asked papa 

to take you into his business. For the beginning, 

you will be assistant, and while you advance we 

shall love each other, and after a few years — we 

shall get married. 

Will — Grace, Grace, is it possible? (Kisses 

her.) 

Steps are heard from the outside. 
Grace — Sh! {They separate hastily and oc- 
eiipy themselves zvith any article withiii their 
reaeh. ) 

Mrs. Harris (Enters, carrying a fezv parcels, 
Qjid is just returning from, shopping; seeing 
Grace and Will in their embarrassment she com- 
prehends the situation) — Well, well, well. 
Grace (Casting down her eyes, she approaches 
her mother) — Mother — Will — and I — love — 
Will — Pardon me — 

Mrs. Harris — Is that what you have come to 
New York for, to take my only child into captiv- 
ity, you barbarian? 

Will — Pardon me for transgressing on your 
hospitality, but ours is true love. 
Mrs. Harris — You are not aware of the duties 
and responsibilities you are to face. 
Grace — We don't care for anything now. 



®?ara 49 

Will — Do not think, Mrs. Harris, we are act- 
ing precipitatedly. Our love, Grace's and mine, 
will not be a passing mood, but true and eternal. 
We shall not marry hastily, but if you give your 
consent we shall wait a few years until I have 
succeeded in gaining a position of my own in the 
world, and then we shall become husband and 
wife. 

Grace (Hurrying to her mother's arms) — Ma, 
I am so happy, William is so true to me. 
Mrs. Harris — I shall speak with papa about it 
when there will be a good opportunity for it. 
Grace — Pa will approve if you consent. 
Mrs. Harris — No hurry, no hurry, though. 
Will — Thank you, Mrs. Harris. 
Grace — William ! 

Mrs. Harris — Now come, and let us open the 
packages and see what I've bought, (She opens 
them.) 

Grace — Is this hat mine ? Isn't it splendid ! 
Mrs. Harris — Now be careful, child, it costs 
eighteen dollars. 

Grace — And your hat? Oh, how beautiful, 
yours must cost at least twice as much as mine 
does. 

Mrs. Harris — William, you don't mind putting 
these books on my writing-desk down-stairs. 
Will — Any service I am allowed to render you 
will make me happy. (Exit.) 



50 ©fara 

Grace — Mamma, clear, everything seems to me 
to be bathed in sunshine. 

Mrs. Harris — Long ago, when I was a girl 
like you, I felt as you do now, your papa and I. 
Now, after my own dream has passed, I have a 
daughter, such as I have been, and the very 
same sensations that I experienced come to you. 
All this is so wonderful. (She and Grace are 
busying tJicniscli'Cs witJi putting azvay the various 
articles she bought.) 

The bell rings. 
Grace — Papa is coming; shall I tell him all 
tonight, just now? Mamma, please do. I could 
not wait so long, I am so impatient. 
Mrs. Harris (Opens the door and steps back 
full of surprise) — You, Mr. Harden? I came 
near kissing you, thinking only my husband 
could arrive at this time. What brings you here? 
Harry — Good evening. Miss Grace. 
Grace — Good evening. (Preferring not to be 
in his company, she leaves, not Jieeding him, the 
room.) 

Harry — Your husband asked me this afternoon 
to call on you tonight before I go home, to tell 
you that a sudden occasion rendered it necessary 
for him to go to Albany, so you should not worry 
on account of him. 

Mrs. Harris — This is the strangest thing I ever 
heard of. Mr. Harris goes to Albany without 



©Fars 5 1 

ever telling me a word about it? This is pe- 
culiar. 

Harry — He seems to have made up his mind 
suddenly, for he told me nothing about it until 
just before he left. 

Mrs. Harris — Is the matter of such impor- 
tance ? 

Harry {Imprudently) — I think it is on account 
of raising some money. 

Mrs, Harris — Anyway, it is very inconsiderate 
on my husband's part to leave the city without 
saying good-bye to me personally, not even in- 
forming me of his intentions. This is strange. 
And to raise money ? All this is so very mysteri- 
ous, I do not understand him. 
Harry — He went, if I believe rightly, to some of 
your relatives. 

Mrs. Harris — To Albany? To my relatives 
there? For money? 

Harry — This seems to be his last step to avoid 
bankruptcy. 
Mrs. Harris — What? 
Harry — I think this is the best he could do. 
Mrs. Harris — What do you mean, bankruptcy, 
for God's sake, who? 
Harry — Well, don't you know? 
Mrs. Harris — I know nothing at all, except 
that my husband mentioned lately that he has 
some troubles. 
Harry — I thought you knew all about it. 



52 S^arB 

Mrs. Harris — Now I begin to understand his 

nervousness, his speech. He has hidden it from 

me for my sake. 

Harry (With the heedlessness peculiar to him) 

— The trouble started last year. Ever since the 

trust started to compete against us business got 

worse every month. We lost trade continuously. 

Since two months, though, difficulties became 

very grave. 

Mrs. Harris — Herbert ! Oh ! I am worrying 

about my husband. 

The bell rings again. 
Mrs. Harris — That is my husband. (She 
hurries tozvard tlie door and at this moment the 
servant girl enters.) 

Servant Girl — A gentleman wishes to see you. 
Mrs. Harris (Exit, but returns a moment after, 
shozving the stranger into the room) — I am Mrs. 
Harris. 

Stranger — A collision occurred between a 
street car and some other vehicle, and your 
husband — 

Mrs. Harris (Interrupting) — Got injured? 
Stranger — Not seriously ; he was fortunate 
enough to escape with a slight injury. A mere 
trifle, ma'am. He is being taken care of by a 
physician ; I am a detective sent to inform you. 
Perhaps you would wish to see your husband. 
If so, I shall escort you. 



el^ara 53 

Mrs. Harris — Of course, I shall be with you in 
a minute. Everything occurs together. One 
trouble after the other. This is like a thunder- 
bolt out of a clear sky. (Exit.) 
Stranger (To Harry) — Are you a member of 
the family? 

Harry — No, sir, I am employed by Mr. 
Harris. 

Stranger (In a low voice) — Then I may con- 
fide the truth to you, but let us be very careful in 
communicating it to his family. Mr. Harris has 
— been found — dead — in Central Park — hav- 
ing shot himself through his right temple. 
Harry — Mr. Harris has killed himself? Man, 
what are you saying? 

Stranger — This letter has been found in his 
left hand and led to his identification. 

{Harry takes the letter zvhich is given to him.) 
Grace (Enters) — Where is papa, sir? 

(Stranger motions to Harry to hide the letter, 
hut Harry does not pay attention to him in his 
usual carelessness. Grace hurries to Harry. 
Seeing him reading something, she reads also. 
Mrs. Harris re-enters dressed.) 
Grace (With a loud scream) — Papa says good- 
bye. 

(Stranger, without allowing Mrs. Harris to 
see the contents of the letter nor to ask for the 
ca\ise of Grace's cry, leads Mrs. Harris out of 
the room. Grace follows both.) 



54 Srara 

William (Enters) — Harry, you here? What 

has happened? 

Harry — Mr. Harris committed suicide. (He 

offers liiiii the letter.) 

Will (Reads) — " Good-bye all. I cannot 

struggle any longer. 

It is a far, far better thing that I do 

Than I have ever done. 

It is a far, far better rest that I go to, 

Than I have ever known ! " . . . 
Wherever one goes to, everywhere is woe in an- 
other shape ; suffering pervades every sphere of 
life. (Shakes his head.) 



Second Scene 

(Two zveeks later. The same room as in the 
previous scene. Discovered Harry Harden, who 
has just arrived and holds his hat in his hand. 
Grace Harris in mourning costume.) 
Harry — Will you kindly announce me to your 
mother ? 

(Grace is very formal and reticent toward him. 
She hows zvhile turning to go. Harry seniles 
covetously at her. Grace looks earnestly at him 
ivhile leaving the room, as if to reproach him for 
his ohtrusiveness.) 

Harry — I will turn you little screw. Five thou- 
sand dollars ? Ha ! 

Mrs. Harris {Enters soon after; she is also 
dressed in black ) — How do you do, Mr. Harry ? 
Harry {Exerts during the following his entire 
resources of speech in order to create as favorable 
an impression upon Mrs. Harris as he thinks will 
promote his designs) — I just return from the 
meeting of the creditors and am very gratified to 
report an — an auspicious result. 
Mrs. Harris — Has the compromise been ef- 
fected ? 

Harry {Boastingly) — My proposition that they 
accept 35 per cent, of their claims, partly in cash 
and partly in promissory notes, due three months 
hence, has been approved of by almost all credi- 
tors present. 



56 ®par0 

Mrs. Harris — I owe you so much gratitude; 
how can I appreciate all you do for me? 
Harry — I laid before the creditors our plans 
for the future ; I explained to them the possi- 
bility of our being able to continue the business 
with the capital you possess now, the money you 
received from the life insurance company; that 
I have full knowledge of the business, and that 
there is possible chance for future success, since 
the only thing that lacked, money, is provided 
for, five thousand dollars. 

Mrs. Harris (Seises his hand) — I should have 
been exposed to utter helplessness if you would 
not have offered us your assistance. Being en- 
tirely ignorant of the formalities of law and busi- 
ness, and my mind is so completely upset, that I 
do not know at moments where I am. I am 
so grateful to you. 

Harry — And I shall endeavor to deserve your 
confidence. Everything will be arranged satis- 
factorily ; your future existence will not be en- 
dangered, as I shall continue the management of 
your concern with the same interest as if it were 
my own. 

Mrs. Harris — I certainly do leave the manage- 
ment completely in your hands, and you may be 
assured that there will not be any lack of appre- 
ciation on my part. If I only could show my ap- 
preciation in other ways than financially. Now, 
as this affair has been settled, I must without 



(EtnvB 5 7 

delay go at the straightening of my domestic 
affairs. (Crying) — It is almost unbearable to 
think of my poor Herbert's horrible death. My 
husband not alive; have I ever thought this 
should occur in my own family? My home de- 
stroyed, and my daughter bereft of her father. 
My Helen, a girl marriageable. 
Harry (Brightens up) — Your daughter. 
Mrs. Harris — For her future I am most con- 
cerned. 

Harry — I — haven't I — the thought occurred 
to me — 

Mrs. Harris — You ? 
Harry — I even thought of marriage — 
Mrs. Harris — Would you marry my — 
Harry — Since our interests are for the future so 
closely allied, that they are mutual in almost 
every respect — why should it not be to the ad- 
vantage of all concerned — that we are to be held 
together by other bonds than business interests? 
Mrs. Harris — This would restore partial hap- 
piness to us all. 

(A smile of triumphant satisfaction passes over 
Harry's face.) 

At this moment Grace enters, but seeing Harry 
she turns as if to go again. 

Mrs. Harris — Come, Grace, you are not dis- 
turbing us. (To Harry, lozv) — Leave us under 
some pretext. I shall speak to her ; return soon. 



58 (EmvB 

Harry {Aloud) — So I shall go and attend to it 

immediately. 

Mrs. Harris — Please do, but I expect you back 

again. Good-bye, Mr. Harry. 

Harry — Good-bye, Miss Grace. 

{Grace hozvs to Jiiui.) 
Mrs. Harris — Grace ! 

Grace — I received a letter today from William. 
He will be here tonight. 
Mrs, Harris — Why does he come ? 
Grace — He sent such touching words of con- 
solation, and he wishes to see me personally to 
express his grief at our loss. 
Mrs. Harris — I wished to speak to you — about 
this friendship with Mr. Wallace. I am your 
mother, child, and you know that your happiness 
lies nearest my heart, and whatever I advise you 
to do is meant for your best. Therefore, I may 
tell you my unveiled opinion. It is to your detri- 
ment to continue any intimacy with Will. 
Grace (/i(/)/'a//^rf)— Mother ! 
Mrs. Harris — Do not entertain any doubts as 
to my good intentions. 

Grace — Every thought of mine belongs to Will. 
Mrs, Harris — I think of your welfare. 
Grace — Then I beg you not to place any obsta- 
cles in the way of my happiness. 
Mrs. Harris — I surely do not; I wish to re- 
move obstacles that have been placed in our way 



Qlrars 59 

by recent events, and under the altered conditions 
we must change our course. You will, after 
mature consideration, arrive at the same conclu- 
sion I have come to. I am older than you. 

(Grace droops her head in tacit obedience.) 
It might have been well enough to accept, to 
think of Will if our misfortune had never come 
true. Use your own judgment. I do not intend 
to force my opinion upon your own conviction, 
to compel you to act against your own conscience ; 
that would be criminal for a mother to do. But 
consider. William has neither a fixed income, 
nor has he a certain trade or occupation. It 
would simply be ridiculous to foster any hopes. 
He cannot even support himself, how could he 
afford to get married? If papa had been alive, 
then it would have been different. Is it still 
necessary for me to dissuade you? 
Grace — But — he will — come tonight — soon — 
Mrs. Harris — When he comes I shall receive 
him and — 

Grace — No, do not tell him tonight — don't — 
he — it would stab his heart — spare him the 
pain — tonight. 

Mrs. Harris — You abandon him ? ( Grace 
does not reply) — You see, Mr. Harden — 
{Grace turns aside zvith an expression of dis- 
approval) (Airs. Harris trying to sonnd her 
daughter's mind) — Mr. Harden is of invaluable 
assistance to us. If it were not for him we would 



6o SrarB 

be groping in the dark altogether. To him di- 
rectly we owe our entire future existence. 
(Grace looks imploringly at her motJicr.) Harry 
is a clever, energetic business man, very close 
and particular, and if we could interest him to a 
greater extent, it would prove to our mutual 
benefit. 

Grace — This can be done without implicating 
me in this affair. I do not want to get mar- 
ried for this reason. 

Mrs. Harris — No, for God's sake, I do not 
wish you to get married for any other reason 
than mutual attraction, or love. There is love 
and love. The light fancies of maidenhood are 
not love, but only imaginations. Love is the 
mutual feeling and willingness to struggle to- 
gether in life, to be friends forever; the choos- 
ing of a companion whom you learn to love in 
course of years. Life is more serious than girls 
think while they are girls, but when life's earnest- 
ness approaches us, then love itself does not 
constitute happiness, it is the will to be happy 
with him whose companionship is most beneficial. 
And Harry is willing to — (Grace remains 
silent for a long time.) — Learn to understand 
him. 

The hell rings. 
Grace — That is William. 
Mrs. Harris — Go to your room. 



^mxB 6 1 

( Grace struggles zvith herself, then Mrs. Harris 
leaves the room.) 

Grace (Alone.) (With dcteruiination) — No! 
No! No! {Her resolution, which appears at 
first to be tinshakable, subsides gradually into 
indecision. Breathing heavily zvhile her inward 
struggle increases she leaves the room on the op- 
posite side, surrendering herself to her weakened 
zvill pozver. Mrs. Harris enters, and after con- 
vincing herself that Grace is not in the room, she 
allows William, who brings some Hozvers, to 
enter. ) 

Will — I am very grieved to hear that Grace's 
health is somewhat affected, and that I am pre- 
vented to see her. 

Mrs. Harris — She has retired to her room a 
short while ago. 

Will — You both have been suffering extremely 
since your husband's death. 
Mrs. Harris — Oh, yes. And you have secured 
a position? 

Will — As entry clerk with a big concern. 
Mrs. Harris — Your salary is not very high 
though, is it? 

Will — I am getting twelve dollars to start with. 
Mrs. Harris {Trying to get at her point) — So 
this is not — very much. 

Will — It is sufficient, considering the oppor- 
tunities for advancement. 



62 (EtnxB 

Mrs. Harris — It may suffice for you personally, 
for a single person. 
Will — But my future is promising. 
Mrs. Harris — Future? Oh! Future nowa- 
days ! Fortune is capricious, and who can today 
rely upon the future ? 

Will — Well, of course, I know well enough 
that there are no millions to be earned, but I 
mean I can easily earn enough in a few years to 
enable me to get married. 

Mrs. Harris — Married and married. There is 
a difference. Women whose hubands work for 
a weekly salary do not exactly find bliss in 
married life, especially when the husband earns 
eighteen to twenty dollars a week and even less. 
Will — But, Mrs. Harris, almost all the people 
live on their earnings, and should they, for this 
reason, remain single? 

Mrs. Harris — In case of necessity it is different 
altogether. But you do not mean to say that 
everybody is anxious to marry a wageworker? 
For a girl who has always worked in a store 
or office, it is an advantage to marry even 
a low-salaried clerk, for she is accustomed to 
hardships. Marriage under these circumstances 
entails drudgery and toil, but it will not be dis- 
appointment for a girl of humble condition, for 
her girlhood was also drudgery and toil. A 
young man must not foster any hope to ever 



©rara 63 

marry a lady who is accustomed from her earHest 
youth to comfort and — 

Will (Whose high-soaring expectations have 
been lowered by every word he has heard, has yet 
a faint hope of its realisation) — But I shall en- 
deavor to make a wife happy with my love. 
Mrs. Harris — Where poverty knocks at the 
door love flies out of the window. 
Will {Upon zvhom dawns a complete apprehen- 
sion of Mrs. Harris' purpose) — You are aiming 
at me. If so, you are depriving me of my ten- 
derest hopes. 

Mrs. Harris — I do not, but circumstances do. 
Will — You are alluding to Grace and me. 
Mrs. Harris — Yes. 

{Will is immovable, as if he were petrified. 
His words choke in his throat ; he seises his hat, 
lays the Hoivers he held until now in his hand on 
the table, and leaves the room slowly. Mrs. 
Harris foUozvs him.) 

Grace {Who has been listening behind the door, 
hurries into the room, toward the door through 
zvhich Will left) — William! {She stops at the 
door, turns back and perceives the flowers on the 
table, which she unfolds of its cover. She presses 
her face into the roses, which fall apart and 
flutter to the floor. She takes some of the loose 
leaves and lets them fall out of her hand and 
scatters them) — Once you bloomed and now you 
fade. How much like me ! 



64 (BtnvB 

(Harry Harden and Mrs. Harris enter, not 
being aware of Grace's presence. IVJien seeing 
her, both exchange glances. Mrs. Harris mo- 
tions Harry to ronaiji in order to declare his in- 
tentions to Grace, zvhile she herself retires, not 
having been observed by Grace. Harry makes 
his presence known by treading heavier.) 
Grace {Turns surprisingly around) — A — 
Harry — Pardon me. You are alone ? May I 
remain with you ? 

Grace {Not replying, steps a little backiuard as 
he approaches her.) 

Harry — Your mother told you of my intentions ? 
May I — ask you, Miss Grace — would you be 
willing to share life with me? We have known 
each other so long. Answer ! You are silent. 
Say will you be my wife and obey me? 
Grace — O — bey ? 

{Harry seiaes her hand impetuously, which she 
neither extends nor withdraws. He intends to 
lay his arm around her zvaist, but she repulses 
him zveakly ; he embraces her, though, and tries 
to kiss her.) 

Grace — Mr. Harden — please. 
Harry — I love you. 

Mrs. Harden enters. 
Grace — Mother! {She hurries toward her as 
if seeking shelter from some danger and presses 
her handkerchief against her eyes. Mrs. Harris 
drazvs both Grace and Harry to her.) 



3F0urt!| Art 

First Scene 

(Many years have passed. Dining-room in 
the Hat zvhich Harry Harden and his wife Grace 
occupy. Harry sits at the table, reads a news- 
paper and smokes a cigar; he is carelessly 
dressed. His vest is unbuttoned, and his necktie 
has slipped above his collar. His face is dark 
and unfriendly. Grace is engaged with dusting 
the furniture and cleaning the room generally. 
Their older child, a boy about tzvo years of age, 
plays on the floor with various toys.) 
Grace (She wears a house wrapper, scrupu- 
lously clean and neat. Upon her face is mir- 
rored intense internal suffering; from the corners 
of her mouth run deep furrozvs along her cheeks. 
Her expression is colorless, almost lucid in its 
paleness) — I shall need some more money this 
week — 

Harry — Again ? What are you doing with all 
the money? 

( Grace turns toward him, glances at him for a 
long time, as if to reply, but she prefers to re- 
main silent and turns away, continuing her 
work) — Well, can't you give me an answer? 
Grace — What I am doing with the money ? 
Harry — There is never a week passing that 
you can't get along without wanting more — 



66 ^mxB 

Grace — This is an affectionate way of speaking 
to one's wife — 

Harry — Oh hell, affection! I'm not speaking 
about affection, am I ? I Hke to know where my 
money goes to. (Grace's breast heaves heavily) 
— Well, what is it? 

Grace — Have I ever asked you where my 
money went to? {Her prudence tells her sud- 
denly to change her tone of enraged defense to 
one of tremulous reproach, in order not to ag- 
gravate the evil) — When your wife asks you for 
money, ought this not to be enough ? Must you 
cross-examine me like a culprit ? Don't you — 
trust — 

Harry — There you are again with your hurt 
feelings — hurt feelings. {Grace turns disgust- 
edly aside, to go) — Now how much do you 
want? From now on I want you to write down 
whatever you bu3\ 

Grace — For God's sake, if you are not ashamed 
of yourself, then don't let others hear it. Ferdi- 
nand hears every word. {The baby commences 
to cry in the ante-room, Grace fetches it and re- 
turns again. Sitting in the rocking-chair she 
lulls her baby to sleep, humming some children's 
song. As she holds her child in her arms, with 
painful expression on her face, she resembles an 
image of a mater dolorosa. Ferdinand enters 
with a book. He sits down on the table, and as 
he has been attracted into the room by the con- 



©para 67 

versation he has overheard, he looks, without 
saying a word, with commiseration at Grace.) 
Harry (Leaves the room) — I will be back in a 
few minutes. I'm going to get a cigar. 

(Grace meets Ferdinand's glance, and as she 
reads his pity out of his expression, she turns her 
eyes blushingly azvay.) 

Ferdinand (To relieve the gloom) — At first, I 
have not been willing to move to you at all on 
account of causing you work. 
Grace — Oh — we always had somebody with 
us. My mother used to stay here, so you are 
not much of trouble to us. 

Ferdinand (Endeavoring to cheer her mind) — 
Well, I shall stay here temporarily anyway. 
After my uncle arrives from Europe, my cousins 
will take a bigger flat and then I will move back 
again to them. 

Grace (Heaves a deep, deep sigh) — A — A — 
Ferdinand — You look — pale — 
Grace — Pitiable — don't I ? Oh ! How dif- 
ferent I look ! When I was a girl — I may not 
think of it at all. 

Ferdinand — Your children cause you much 
trouble, I suppose — 

Grace — Oh, no — not that — not that — have 
you not heard — 

Ferdinand — Yes — I — have — You are, then, 
unfortun — 



68 (Urara 

Grace (Sighs again) — Oh, if I could speak to 
some soul — it would relieve me — I have con- 
fidence in you — Ferdinand — on account of his 
temper, my mother went away from me — 
Rather than allow her dignity to be injured, she 
opened the boarding house — to live indepen- 
dently — but I — I must whither — 

(Ferdinand looks dreamily at Grace. The 
baby having fallen asleep, Grace carries the child 
into the bedroom. Ferdinand, alone, rises and 
shakes his head. Harry returns also. Grace 
enters again carrying the meal on a tray; she 
avoids looking at her husband, while she serves 
the supper. All sit dozvn without exchanging 
any zvords.) 

Grace (To Ferdinand) — Help yourself. (To 
the child on the floor) — Come, deary, eat some- 
thing and then you can play again. Come, dear. 
(To Harry, indifferently) — Take the boy, and 
let him have some soup. 

Harry (Raises the boy onto his knee) — Well, 
come on. 

Grace (As the boy takes the spoons from the 
table, to Harry) — Don't let him take things off 
the table. 

Harry (Impolitely to the child) — Now let it lie 
I'm telling you. 

Grace — Don't be so rough to the child. 
Harry — Don't you see he takes it again if I 
take it away from him. 



Bmxa 69 

Grace (Irritated) — You don't need to yell at 
him. One must get the child accustomed to good 
manners in a polite way. 

Harry (When the boy takes the spoon again) — 
Now sit still or I chase you away altogether. 
Grace (Glances at Ferdinand) — For heaven's 
sake what shall become of the child ? 

(Ferdinand scrutinises Harry.) 
Harry — But that beats all. Whatever I do is 
no good for you. 

Ferdinand — It requires a great deal of knowl- 
edge and patience to rear a child. 
Harry — Do you mean to say I don't know how 
to bring up my boy ? 
Ferdinand — I mean nothing at all. 
Grace — Yes, Ferdinand, my husband thinks a 
child is a stone ; let it grow how it wants to. 
Ferdinand — A child is naturally inclined to do 
wrong, and it is difficult to know how to guide it 
to do right. 

Harry — Now don't you tell me either. I know 
just as much as you do with all your books. 

(Ferdinand smiles. Grace casts her eyes 
down. ) 

Harry (Allows the boy to put his hands in the 
plate of soup and to clasp his hands together) — 
You just be like a boy, and have your fun, so; 
that's right. 
Grace (Her anger is aroused) — For God's sake I 



70 BtavB 

{She tears the child azvay from him) — Now you 
see, Ferdinand, can anybody bear that? 
Harry (Rising) — What is the matter with you? 
Are you getting funny? 

Grace (Encouraged by the presence of a sym- 
pathizer, is seized by a sudden violent outburst of 
anger that has secretly been nourished during 
her married life. Her natural meekness and 
patience is changed into a furious rage, and her 
face assumes an expression of mad despair) — 
Enough now ! 

Harry (Tries to be master of the situation) — 
Well! 

Grace (With increasing voice and strength, 
mingled zvith tears) — Long enough have you 
trampled my happiness under your feet. 
Ferdinand — Grace, — God! (He leaves the 
room, unable to ivitncss the scene.) 
Grace — You have torn my very joy out of my 
heart. You — you — you — Oh ! you ought to 
possess a wife of a character like yours ; there 
would not have been a single day of peace in your 
house. If you ever had sense you would know 
how to treat a woman better than you do. 
Harry (IVhipped into submittance, he grabs liis 
coat and hat and leaves the house, coivardly.) 

(Grace e.vhausted, falls upon the lounge, buries 
Iter face in the cushion, and sobs for a long time. 
The sobs zveaken, die azvay into silence, and then 
they break forth again into greater vehemence.) 



EtntB 71 

Ferdinand (Enters and approaches her) — 
Grace, Grace! 

Grace — Oh, could I but die ! Oh, could I die ! 
I can't live any longer. I cannot live. 
Ferdinand {Seizes her wringing arms) — Have 
courage, everything will be all right again. {He 
assists her in raising herself.) 
Grace — What has become of me ! All my 
dreams shattered. Like a tree that the storm 
has stripped of its leaves and branches, so that 
nothing but the naked trunk remains, so am I 
bare of all that makes life beautiful. 
Ferdinand — Poor, poor woman ! 
Grace — There is no guardian angel to appear 
for me. I am buried for life. When I was a 
girl I pictured my future, my life as a mother 
and wife, in roseate colors. How great, how 
deep is my woe — I — never — loved — him. 
{She takes the boy to her side.) If I could be 
economically independent. 

Ferdinand — Why, then, did you marry him ; 
you, who are so noble-minded ; have you not seen 
before ? 

Grace — I persuaded myself to abandon all love, 
and sought to find happiness and contentment in 
the tranquillity of our home. In spite of our 
different natures, from love to my mother, I 
endeavored to accept the inevitable. 
Ferdinand — You are so far superior to him. 
Grace — The longer I shared his life the deeper 



72 (Tfara 

I saw the abyss growing between us and felt, one 
day after the other, my joy sinking into it. 
Ferdinand — Why did you not check his wrongs 
immediately ? 

Grace — Did I ever expect this ? Never during 
my maidenhood have I heard a single offending 
word, nor have I ever known to utter a word of 
defense, never having met with any wrong. I 
could not grasp the possibility that I, I, could be 
the victim of such a tragedy, in my own house, 
my family, with my own husband. It was not 
possible, I thought. Silently I perished under 
this weight from day to day, month to month, 
and years. But I could not abandon my home. 
I will not be placed into the cruel world where so 
many perish, severed from all that is holy, to 
struggle for myself, a miserable woman, leading 
a restless life. No, I could not live without my 
home, exposed to cruelty and suffering — a shat- 
tered life. 

Ferdinand (Taking her hand) — Grace, Grace! 
I know you are intelligent. You will understand 
me — I am young yet, but I have suffered, too, 
as much as you, perhaps more, otherwise I could 
not understand your suffering, and I can, there- 
fore, advise you. You are mild and soft-hearted 
— and Harry is not bad, no human being is bad 
intrinsically. He has grown up a spoiled child, 
and if you despair nothing will be remedied. 



©para 73 

Use judgment. He must be managed, as you 
would manage a child. And by persistent em- 
ployment of correct measures you will gain con- 
trol over him, and mould his nature to suit 
yourself. 

Grace (Sniiling bitterly) — Then I would have 
to educate my husband? I thought to look up 
to him as my protector, on whose side I should 
walk through life, full of admiration. 
Ferdinand — It may be a peculiar domestic life, 
but unavoidable, nowadays. 

The bell rings. 

(Ferdinand goes into the front room. Grace 
presses the bottom, opens the door and returns 
soon. While she carries the dishes into the kit- 
chen, Harry returns, sits dozvn and reads a nezvs- 
paper. Grace comes into the room again, covers 
the table with a table-cloth, paying no attention 
to her husband.) 

Harry {Convincing himself that he and his wife 
are alone in the room, he addresses her like a 
naughty boy that has received a whipping) — 
Grace, forgive me! {The baby in the ante-room 
commences to cry) — The child is crying, Grace. 
Grace — Undress — the boy — and put him to 
bed. {Harry does so.) 



Second Scene 

(The same room as in the second scene of the 
first act, the only difference nozv being that 
everything appears to be somezvhat brighter. 
New curtains hang over the zvindoivs, decorated 
with blue ribbons, and blue, neat ribbons are 
placed everywhere where they arc suitable. Two 
tables are placed in a roiv, covered zvith white 
table-cloths, cups, saucers, and all kinds of dishes 
placed on them, cake and fruit heaped on large 
plates in the center of each table. Festivity lies 
in the air. Grace and Mrs. Alice Harden discov- 
ered, Grace dressed in a holiday costume.) 
Mrs. Alice Harden {She zvears her zvorking 
dresses, an apron over her skirt — claps her 
hands together) — Soon, soon they will be here. 
You can't imagine the expectation with which 
everyone waited for this day. My husband — 
he could not sleep ever since the steamer left 
Europe. And Anny, — I can't simply tell you. 
She jumped and sang and cried all the time. 
Whomever she met, she related that her father 
is coming from Europe. 

Grace — He must be off the steamer by this 
time. 

Alice — It takes a long time for steerage pas- 
sengers to get off the ship. But now I must 



(EtntB 75 

dress myself. How I look! Well, one can't 
look like a lady when you scrub the floor and the 
stairs. It's hard to be janitress, I tell you, but I 
don't mind. When one is poor, then one grows 
smaller and thinner every day, but if you are 
rich, well, then every day of your life, you get 
actually younger. Look at these ladies. They 
are fifty years of age and they look and feel 
themselves to be as healthy as a young thing. 
See here ! (Shows her hardened, skinny hand) 

— It's no use complaining. I am contented, as 
long as we have our bed and bread. Some joys 
are left us anyway, and if you have little joys 
once in a while, you know, you appreciate them 
the more. For instance, Anny, she has saved a 
few dollars ; she worked hard, though, for it ; 
now her father is coming; William Wallace 
makes fair money — 

(Grace recoils at hearing the name.) 
Alice — He got his fourteen dollars a week 
when he works, so he is going to marry her in 
the fall. One great trouble we have (sighs) 
that girl, that girl, our Mary. 
Grace — Does she never come home ? 
Alice — You see, she got married on the quiet, 
a thing not even seventeen years ; and the boy, of 
course, they could not keep up a house, so he 
went home after a while to his parents, and she 

— Oh ! These girls nowadays, here in New 



76 ©parfi 

York, you can't manage them. I could not get 
her to stay home any more. 

(The bell rings.) 

William Wallace enters. Grace starts back 
suddenly. 

William — You are here? {To Mrs. Alice 
Harden) — I took half a day off. Are they not 
here yet? I did not know whether I should go 
to the steamer or should come here. So I 
thought it best to come, lest they should have 
gone away from there. 

Alice — Now they ought to be here any minute. 
I am going to dress myself in the meantime. 
{Exit.) 

{Grace and William alone. They undergo ex- 
treme difficulties in their attempt to speak to each 
other. Grace sits dozvn on a chair near the win- 
dow and glances into the street.) 
William — I am going to get engaged to Anna 
Harden, tomorrow. {Grace looks at him.) — 
You don't look well, Grace. 
Grace — You will be happy now. 

{William goes into the other room to convince 
himself that their conversation is not overheard.) 
Alice {Outside) — Don't come in. I am dress- 
ing myself. 

William — Shall I close the door? 
Alice — You had better do so. {He closes the 
door, then returns into the front room.) 



(Btnrs 77 

(Will and Grace remain at a distance from 
each other.) 

William — Grace, I better go. 
Grace (Rises) — I — am — perishing — without 
you. 

William — Think it has been a dream, such as 
we often dream, whose traces grow fainter until 
they vanish some day into obHvion. 
Grace — You can forget, you ? You will love ? 
But I ! Never to have loved ! 
William — Do not open old wounds. (He 
turns to go; at the door he stops, turns the key, 
and then hurries toward Grace, embraces her 
passionately, and they press a long kiss upon each 
other's lips.) 

Grace — Once ! Only once ! 
William — Too late. 
Grace — Too late . . . 

(The bell rings. They separate. Grace 
strokes her disordered hair back and subdues her 
emotion. William hurries to the door and turns 
the key back.) 

Alice (Enters) — They are here. (She opens 
the door that leads into the hallway and leaves 
the room. Harry foUozvs her. Grace, after she 
has gained her fortner control, also goes into the 
hallway. After a few seconds voices are heard 
from the stairs. Anna and George enter, sup- 
porting their tottering father, whose knees trem- 
ble, and who is bent by age. Harry, his boy on 



78 iEtSLtB 

his arms, Alice, Grace, Ferdinand, and William 
follow.) 

The Father (Takes his son George in his arms, 
presses his face against that of George ivith both 
his hands) — You are my son? You, my son? 
You, my son? God! God! I thank thee that 
thou hast given me thy blessing, that thou hast 
deemed me worthy of this joy. 



